


promise

by mako_lies (wingeddserpent)



Series: The Ruin [8]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Character Study, Flowers, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 09:48:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14892311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingeddserpent/pseuds/mako_lies
Summary: It’s merely a passing fancy that catches him so off-guard that he indulges. Ignis purchases flowers from the supermarket.





	promise

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ignoct Writing Weekend's prompt: Pressed Flowers. 
> 
> Notes: this work contains allusions to unspecified mental illness. Mentioned Luna/Noct or Luna & Noct, however you'd like to read it.

It’s merely a passing fancy that catches him so off-guard that he indulges. Ignis purchases flowers from the supermarket.

The cosmos _are_ lovely—vibrant purple blooms, surrounded by clusters of small white flowers that are delicate as lace. They smell divine—a soft, non-cloying scent—perhaps he’ll have to see if they make candles or soap with it.

If he has time, he chides himself. He has already wasted more than enough of it on this venture.

+

The flowers moulder on his coffee table for nearly a week, beside the photo books that Prompto recommended him. His apartment, while tidy and not wanting for any comfort, is not where he spends his time. Naturally, his days are spent in the Citadel or Noctis’s apartment. On rare occasion, he finds time to go out.

But his apartment is more a place to sleep, when he doesn’t have more pressing concerns elsewhere. (And when he doesn’t fall asleep on the overstuffed couch in his Citadel office.)

Ignis considers moving his flowers to said office, but they’ve already begun to dry and last time he bought flowers for his office, Gladio had teased him about some “admirer” until Ignis had finally given them to one of the elderly Citadel cooks. Gladio had apologized later, shame-faced, and Ignis hadn’t been above accepting his bribe of Ebony. 

So he _leaves_ the flowers at home, but the problem remains on his mind.

+

Waiting outside of the locker rooms for Noctis, Ignis finds himself looking at “do it yourself” articles about what to do with cut flowers. He has never been one to leave a problem unsolved, after all.

Of course, pressing them is a classic suggestion, one that is amenable enough.

It has little practical purpose, but surely he is permitted his moments of frivolity? So long as no one can witness them, of course.

+

Pressing flowers, as far as flights of fancy go, is simple enough with the myriad articles he finds on the subject. Seven days later, his flowers come out from between the waxed-lined pages of _T_ _he Tenebraen Encyclopedia, 7_ _th_ _Edition._

They turn out… decently. Some of the blooms are twisted, like he didn’t get them perfectly on their faces, but most have retained their color and their shape. Two of the seven flowers he pressed he would even consider ideal. Lovely.

But even in their loveliness, they raise a new conundrum: what to do with them?

+

“Now I have pressed flowers that I don’t know what to do with.” He adjusts his glasses for want of something to do with his hands. “I know, of course, that I didn’t have to do anything with the flowers save enjoy them. It simply seemed a shame to throw them out without enjoying them.”

Avery, his counselor, scratches their beard. For a moment, he’s worried they’ll rehash the old— _you should spend less time working_ —conversation. The one that they’ve been having since His Majesty began insisting Ignis attend therapy, shortly after his breakdown following his acceptance into the Crownsguard.

“Must you do something with them? Can it not be enough to have them and enjoy them?” They look at him sharply from over the rim of their glasses, a trick Ignis reminds himself to master for when Noctis won’t eat his vegetables, however cleverly masked.

He supposes—except he can easily imagine himself storing them away and creating clutter.

“I know that look. Very well. Could you give them to someone else?” they ask.

“Some aren’t perfect…” he trails off as Avery gives him another over-the-rim stare. “I’ll try.”

“Good. That’s your homework before next session. Either gift them to someone else, or content yourself with enjoying them.” It seems an easy enough task, but Ignis knows it may well prove to be the most difficult thing he does all week. Including attending the Councilor’s Banquet on Wednesday evening.

+

Gladio, with his blooming love of the outdoors, is the obvious choice, but, as it always does, it comes back to Noct.

Noct is curled up on the couch of his apartment, clutching the notebook he shares with Lady Lunafreya. His mouth is pursed in thought, hair in it’s typical unkempt style, and he surveys the spread of stickers on his coffee table. Unfortunately, in creating the table space, he’s tossed all his books and video games and comics onto the floor under the table. Ignis itches to clean it, but Avery has suggested he attempt to clean Noct’s apartment less, unless it’s absolutely dire.

He wants to say this is dire, but he’s seen worse. Trash piled to the ceiling. Spilled juice left to mold on the counter. Laundry covering his bed, forcing Noctis to sleep on top of the mountain. He can see it all in his mind’s eye so clearly.

Ignis blinks back to himself as Noctis says, “I need to find new stickers, Specs. The ones I’ve got are lame.”

Bollocks. They are going to spend another series of weeks combing Etsy for new stickers. He’ll need to make inquiries to all the speciality stationary shops in the city. A headache begins forming behind his eyes. Finding stickers is one thing, but finding stickers Noct will consider fit enough for the captive princess… Even Ignis’s training and skills aren’t always up to that task.

Noct sets aside a holographic skull sticker that Gladio had found in some Indie Music shop. He sighs. Ignis has flashbacks of Noctis spreading a store’s entire selection of stickers over the floor and searching for _hours_ as Ignis’s phone erupted with  notification after notification as Gladio live texted a council meeting he’d gone to in Ignis’s stead.

Finding stickers is no simple matter. Ignis sweated into his undershirt, risking sweating through to his dress shirt, when he remembers the flowers with all the desperation of a man holding to the final rock before the plunge of a waterfall.

Pressed as they are, the flowers could easily be inserted into the journal. “I have,” his voice rasps, and he clears it, “I have freshly pressed flowers that might just do the trick.”

“Flowers? Isn’t that Gladio’s schtick?” Noctis asks, picking up a glitzy unicorn sticker and tossing it back into the pile just as quickly.

“Last I had heard, his doctor was checking him for allergies. And I assure you, I find flowers quite pleasant.”

Noctis looks up, frown tugging at his mouth. “Allergies? Oh, he’ll love that. Explains all the sneezing, though.” Then he laughs. “Sure, I guess. I’ll send ‘em to Luna. But when did you start pressing flowers, anyway?”

“Last week. I’ll bring them tomorrow.”

The smile he’s graced with, all but gleaming, shines like the promise of stars Ignis has always dreamed of seeing. His uncle says that he saw them as a child, in Tenebrae before Mother shipped him to his Grandmother in Altissia. But he can recall the stars as well as he can recall his mother’s face, which is to say, not at all.

A pang. He wishes the flowers were perfect. If Noctis is picky about stickers, how will he see Ignis’s first attempts at flower pressing? But Noctis has been—accepting, if not patient—of Ignis’s failures in the past. No matter how many times he fails in making the Tenebraen desert, Noctis still eats them all. Perhaps he will accept the flowers, too, even if he cannot bear to send them to Lady Lunafreya.

Despair claws at his stomach with raptor claws, before he reminds himself—he needn’t be perfect. He cannot be. And striving will only make him a friendless killjoy. He smiles at Noct, and means it, even if he remains unsure whether his face demonstrates that same sentiment. “Well, at the least, it shall give you an extra day to write a fitting message to Lady Lunafreya.”

Noctis flushes, a pleasant pink in his cheeks, and bends once more to his task, fringe hiding his dear eyes. That fond longing wells up, as it ever does. Yes. The pressed flowers will be a (hopefully) wonderful gift.

+

The following day, Ignis sifts through his flowers and finds that three of the seven are fine enough to give. The others have folded petals that are more than unsightly. But those three are near perfect.

He is maybe less than subtle in placing the flowers between the pages of _A Brief History of Economic Relations Between Lucis and Accordo_ , which is not even remotely brief, but is important nonetheless.

Noctis stares at it open-mouthed upon its presentation. He groans. “Seriously, Specs? I’ve got tests coming up. I thought we agreed—no more extra work before tests...” He tentatively cracks open the book like his doom is contained in the dry tome, then he stops at the sight of the flowers. “Oh, wow, Specs. They’re—pretty. Luna’s gonna love ‘em.” He turns that smile on Ignis again, and Ignis alights with it.

Enough that he wonders what lengths he would go to, to ensure that Noctis will continue to smile?

“Do I have to read the book?” Noctis asks, curious fingers gentle on the petals.

“Not now. But you should try to read most of it before you change classes in April.” Dry though it is, it is an important topic for Noctis to know before he becomes King. Though they all hope the day will be far off, the reality is is that His Majesty appears weaker with each passing day.

“Expensive flowers, but thanks. I’ll start working through it after I finish my tests.”

“Good. I’ll help you study. Let’s take a look,” he says, and guides Noctis to the couch.

They settle together, Noctis pressed up warm and soft to his side, and they go over his textbooks, and Ignis never wants this moment to end. The future will come, but oh, how he wishes it wouldn’t.

+

Ignis doesn’t see Noctis put the flowers into the journal, but with how closely he guards it, it’s no surprise. So he puts it out of mind—and nearly forgets the entire matter, save for those instances when he sees beautiful flowers he could press, that draw him in as though he’s a starving butterfly. But he refrains, in stunning feats of will-power.

Except a year later, shortly after Noct finishes high school, Ignis is helping him go over a new set of trade proposals with Altissia. Noctis frowns at the notes he’s been taking. “My journal is out of space. Mind grabbing me an empty one from the drawer?” Noct asks, gesturing at his desk without looking up.

Ignis makes it a point not to go through Noctis’s drawers, even when cleaning for him.

Privacy is in short supply for the monarchy, and Ignis is driven to preserving as much as it as he can. Not going through Noctis’s things is small, but it is still of vital import.

The drawer is a jumble—pens and notebooks and stickers and what looks suspiciously like his bank book. “Which journal would you like?”

“Blue one.”

There’s a blue satin bound notebook. Purple glittering stars are painted on the covers. It’s lovely, and very Noctis. That boy does love his stationary.

Ignis flips it open to check the paper composition (and to ensure it’s blank, of course) and something falls out of the pages. He bends to pick it up off the floor, and stops when he sees familiar purple blooms. The flowers that he gave to Noct. He didn’t give them to Lady Lunafreya after all.

Were they not sufficient? “Noct… Are these the flowers I gave you?” The words can barely escape his suddenly closed throat.

Noctis looks up. Then looks away again. “Oh. Yeah. They were really nice. So… I kept them. Are you mad?”

“Mad?” He puts the flowers back into the journal, with gentle but trembling hands. Is it true? Did Noctis keep them because he wanted them, more than he wanted something to give the princess? “No. Of course not.”

That Noctis thought them so fine a gift he had to keep them… If that’s the case… “Why keep them? I didn’t think you overfond of flowers.”

“They’re really nice, Iggy. I usually keep the things you get me… It’s—they always remind me of you.” Noctis shuffles through the reports in his hands, but he fixes his endless blue gaze on Ignis.

“Well, then—I must say I’m glad. That you’ve cherished my gifts.”

Something is _blooming_ between them, something with that same sweetness of the flowers. Noctis sets aside the papers and approaches. He stalls—time suspended between them, some tension born of potential. Ignis holds the journal and the flowers. Noctis smiles, so beautiful and reassuring, Ignis’s hands sweat in the second skin of his gloves—Noctis puts his hand on Ignis’s shoulder, touch bright and searing even through his dress shirt, vest, and his undershirt. His skin heats with awareness, that heady sweetness cloying in the air between them, till Ignis fears he will become drunk on this attention. Ignis knows he shouldn’t respond so, but he cannot stop.

As ever, he will gladly drink up whatever affection Noctis will give. “Thanks, Iggy,” Noctis says, as soft and soothing as lavender. “Think you could make me some more?”

“I’ll get you flowers any time you’d like,” Ignis promises.

“And I’ll keep them all. Fill my apartment up with them,” and Noctis seals his own vow with a pointed kiss on Ignis’s cheek.

Alight. Joy bursting at the seams where Ignis had stitched himself back together, painstakingly over the years. Filled where once there was but empty sorrow.

He did have his eye on some pansies at the market. Anticipation curls within his gut, sweet as anything. Something to look forward to, as he dazedly hands Noctis both the flowers and the journal.

Ignis has a whole library. He can fill the pages with flowers for Noct, and it will never match his care or devotion. “I’d best get started then.”

“Hold your chocobos,” Noctis laughs, sitting back down. “Help me with this, first, Specs.”

And, beaming, Ignis does.


End file.
